2014-04-24 - A 'New' Face At The Manor
Carrie never came in through the cave or the front door when returning from her trips out as 'Polly.' Usually she stopped by Selina's to swap out clothes, but tonight she didn't feel up to running into Selina. Entering through the back, she makes her way through the manor taking care not to trudge in any dirt with the worn old boots she wore, laces half undone and one even frayed off on the end. Skinny jeans with slices along the knees revealing skin, and a tank-top with slices over a fishnet shirt is worn along with her hair done up in pale blue fading off into purple at the tips in a spikey manner. Even a nose ring is worn as well as black lipstick and some rather heavy eyeliner. Stately Wayne Manor is quite a large place. Even with the residents that call it home, it can seem empty and is quite possible for two people to be within the mansion at the same time and never see each other. However, now is not one of those times. The punk ragamuffin manages to enter in unnoticed, but only after a few feet in the door. Turning the corner, with a cleaning cloth in one hand and a bottle of some unknown polish in the other, Alfred steps into view. He takes a step, then pauses, stiffening as he sees what looks to be an intruder. The eyes widen, just slightly, betraying his surprise...then quickly narrow into a piercing gaze, taking in every detail. The hair, the outfit, the makeup and choice of fashion accessories. There is a slight scoff, then Alfred glances back behind 'Polly', checking to see if his floors remained clean. "At least you wiped your feet." The words are delivered in classic Alfred snark...caring yet slightly condescending at the same time. "Alfred, do we have any of last night's dinner left? I'm hun-" Damian says as he comes into the entryway seeking the family butler. When he sees him there with Polly, Damian's lips quirk into a smirk. "Ah, you've met Polly I see," he says crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. 'Polly' smiles at Alfred even as she's caught red-handed, as it were. Lifting her hand she reaches up to take hold of the nose ring she wears sliding her thumbnail beneath to pull the magnetic item off. "I know better than that, Alfred. Just because something is worn doesn't mean it's dirty." Of course she's remarking on her clothes, and the slight Jersey accent she takes on when playing the part of Polly is completely gone and replaced by her own proper speech which had been grilled into her through years under Batman. Glancing past him toward Damian she ducks her head with a further grin. "I was out visiting Ted's gym. This is the persona I use to practice there without revealing my identity... He's the one that came up with the name 'Polly' but I kind of like it." "Indeed." The butler turns, placing the cloth and spray bottle upon a nearby curio table, then returns his attention to 'Polly'. "It is better than Master Bruce's first alternate disguise. I assisted in improving it with him." Alfred doesn't bother to mention which disguise that was. Perhaps he doesn't feel it important. A turn of the head and now Damian gets Alfred's attention. "There are leftovers within the kitchen refrigerator, for just such an emergency, Master Damian." Then, with a step back, both young adults are in his view. "If you and Miss, err, Polly wish, I could see about warming it up for you both. Or providing fashion advice." The last comment was slid over towards Carrie's way. Seems someone doesn't necessarily approve of ripped jeans. "So that's where the name came from, it sounded a little old-fashioned to me, but if Ted came up with it that makes sense," Damian observes before he pushes off the wall. "That would be excellent Alfred, dinner at Dick's place consisted mostly of stale pizza, which isn't enough to keep me going after running around rooftops in Bludhaven." "I've been wearing disguises since I was thirteen. The Boss was rather stringent with me on that." Carrie smiles politely at the pair only to consider the offer of food. A small noise is made as her stomach kicks her reminding that it had been quite awhile since she last ate. "That does sound like it would be good, actually." For a moment she wavers considering. "Is there time for me to go grab a quick shower to rinse this out of my hair?" And change clothes. Those blue eyes look over Carrie again, then Alfred shrugs. "If Master Damian is willing to wait, then you may yet have time, Miss Carrie." Yes, Alfred reverted to using his usual affectation for Carrie. "Otherwise, I will not mind if you desire to wait before doing so. It will not be the first time the kitchen table has been graced with a fictional character's presence. Nor will it be the last." Damian shakes his head at the polite smile and explanation. "I wasn't complaining, I /like/ the way you look," he says though to be fair, he /always/ liked how Carrie looked. "Anyhow, I am willing to wait," he says with a nod for Alfred. "I'd offer to help warm things up, but cooking is not one of my skills." Which is something both the others can verify if not the Gotham Fire Department. Carrie quirks an amused smile at the way that Alfred speaks. Somehow his humor always struck her as enjoyable. "In that case I think food is a more pressing need right now for all of us. I'll clean up later," she agrees only to move for the kitchen expecting the others to follow. A look is cast toward Damian, then she looks back toward Alfred, "Yes please don't let him cook without supervision." It's part tease against Damian and part knowing that he was usually too impatient to do it right. Damian turns and follows Carrie. "I will learn eventually," he says with earnest determination. "Cooking I mean," he says. It was something that defied him, so, of course he wants to conquer it. "Anyhow, how was the gym?" "I wouldn't dream of it, Miss Carrie." There is a slight smirk upon Alfred's face that echoes within his words. He knows what happened last time. "I do not believe there is enough in the household budget to replace the pot holders." He follows in behind Carrie, but then breaks off from the pair as he steps for the fridge to retrieve last night's dinner, turning on the oven with a flick of his wrist as he passes...not even breaking his stride. Carrie moves to her usual space at the table to pull the chair out and sink down into it. "Maybe Alfred could teach you?" She inquires with a look cast toward the butler as she wasn't intending to volunteer him for something such as that. "Or I could teach you some basics too. Just so that you can cook for yourself if you ever need to. Better that than ending up like Dick with stale pizza." Damian takes his usual spot across from Carrie and leans back in the chair. "Either would be good," he says with a nod. "And preferable to stale pizza." He makes a face at that thought. Alfred actually chuckles. Seriously, the man laughed. Of course, being British, it is a polite chuckle, and quickly passes. "Tell me, is Master Dick's apartment littered with pizza boxes? It seems that things never change." He reaches into the fridge, pulling out a section of beef roast that was served last night, as well as a container or two of the side dishes. "It will be my pleasure to teach Master Damian what he wishes to know." You both get a sense that Alfred's statement is referring to more than just cooking. "Like what shoes go with a tuxedo?" It was a low blow but offered with a grin toward her cohort across the table. Carrie knew rather well that he preferred to wear his sneakers most everywhere and with anything in spite of the occasion. It was just one of those things most wrote off as another 'Wayne Eccentricity.' "I'm sure he'd learn well whatever you teach, Alfred." She leans her elbows on the table lifting a hand to run over her face lightly shaking off the wave of sleepiness that had begun to creep over her. "I need to get back into my studies. I fell behind while pulling double-duty on patrols." Damian snorts before he sliding out of his chair and wandering towards the fridge. "Red Converse, obviously," Damian says adopting a lofty tone before he pulls open the fridge door and searches for something to drink. "Want anything?" he asks, the question is directed to both Carrie and Alfred. Finding a drink, he leans against the fridge door and says more seriously to Alfred "And I would be willing to learn a few things." "During college, extracting pizza boxes from Master Dick's room became a daily occurrence." The roast is slid into the oven, as Alfred turns on the burners to start warming up the sides, which consists of a rice pilaf and some vegetables. "It got to the point where Master Bruce threatened to cut Dick's income so that he couldn't afford pizza every night." Alfred politely refuses a drink from Damian, as he tends to the food. "And Miss Carrie, Master Damian does not need me to teach him which shoes to wear. Even I know that is not a battle worth losing." Carrie chuckles with amusement as the war on shoes goes without recurrence. It was more something Bruce had had issue with before deciding it was a non-issue in reality. "Fair enough. Grab me a soda please, Damian? I could use some caffeine. Getting back to a normal sleep schedule is just as hard as getting out of it." Glancing to the stove as Alfred works she watches quietly as he prepares the leftovers with a murmur of, "Smells great." "And I thought my diet lacked variety," Damian comments about Dick's pizza obsession as he makes his way back to the table with two sodas. One is slid over to Carrie. Alfred's submission on the shoe issue earns a triumphant grin. "Wise decision," he says before he has a celebratory drink of his soda and sets it down on the table. "You'll manage," he says to Carrie. "And Gotham has been quiet, so, there's that." Though by saying so, he's probably jinxed it. That triumphant grin is noticed...and Alfred smiles, despite himself. Though, he turns quickly back to the food prep, in an effort to not let his moment of whimsy be too apparent. "I simply decided that if Master Bruce cannot win the shoe argument with his son, then there is no sense in trying myself." Again, there is a bit of that sardonic nature bleeding through in the voice. The heat is turned down on the food as Alfred shifts to get plates and silverware for the pair at the table. It seems he is ready to serve. Carrie reaches for her soda to take a few needy sips. She sates herself on a few quick bites before pushing back her chair with a murmur of, "Excuse me. I'm going to go get that shower now. Thank you for dinner, Alfred." Even if she barely ate anything. Smiling toward the pair she heads out of the room to go upstairs to her own.